


A Legacy in Tattoos

by myblackbox



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke and Lexa's happy ending, F/F, Fluffyfest, my way of healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6173101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myblackbox/pseuds/myblackbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa's conclave tattoo dominated her back, as it always had, framed by the Trikru tattoos on each arms, but joining it now were other smaller designs, ringing it like a halo. Clarke’s eye was drawn to the vine encircling a star, knowing its twin rest between her own shoulder blades, a symbol of their union.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Legacy in Tattoos

Clarke woke to the grey light of morning creeping through their bedroom window. Squinting, she let out a small moan of protest and turned away from the invader. She settled once again for a little more sleep, but sleep never came because now her mind was awake and turning. Her muddled thoughts warped and twisted, as early morning thoughts often do, drifting in and out of dreams and reality, memories and images, all blended into a cacophony of hazy half sleep. 

Lexa’s breathing changed and she started to snore. Soft at first, and then louder, until Clarke nudged her with a warm toe, and Lexa mumbled and rolled to her side, soon her breathing evened again, slow, and rhythmic, and familiar. 

Clarke was truly awake now, sleepy thoughts banished until all she could hear was the ringing silence of early morning. She opened her eyes and watched the light move across the room, slowly filling the space, turning from grey, to white, to yellow. She was old enough now, had lived enough years, to cherish the quite. Her eyes focused on her partners back, dappled light making her skin almost golden, highlighting the tattoos and scars that Clarke had intimately memorized these last 18 years. 

Her conclave tattoo dominated, as it always had, framed by the Trikru tattoos on each arms, but joining it now were other, smaller designs, ringing it like a halo. Clarke’s eye was drawn to the vine encircling a star, knowing its twin rest between her own shoulder blades, a symbol of their union. It felt like a different life time and at the same time, not that long ago. Those were difficult days, full of uncertainty. The clans were not accepting at first, nor were many of Clarke’s friends, but Lexa stood firm through it all, a beacon in the madness. And when they stood before the Flamekeeper, with only Abby and Indra and a small handful of others, Lexa’s eyes were so full of love that she knew that she had made the right choice.

Below the tattoo of vine and stars was a pale white scar from a blade, an assassination attempt that started the great war. Clarke closed her eyes to block out the memory that came so freely of black blood pooling in their marriage bed. That was the beginning of lonely days and nightmare nights as Lexa, and those clans that stood with the coalition, battled the dissenters to regain the peace. Peace had come, but not without a great price to all the clans. 

A much more pronounced scar rested at the back of Lexa’s neck, dissecting the infinity symbol. It was part of Lexa’s religious heritage and Clarke respected that. They had been united five years when Lexa’s headaches had become unbearable and they had gone to Abby who had discovered the chip. It had taken six hours to remove all its tendrils from Lexa’s spinal cord. Monty said that the chip was dead and couldn’t get any information from it, but he thought it might have been some sort of bioelectronic interface. Lexa only knew that she received a wound at her conclave but knew of no technology, she was just as surprised about the chip as the others had been. She was told at the time that the wound was meant to give her the dreams that would impart former commander’s wisdom. She had the dreams at first, though she often disagreed with their council, and had not had any for several years. 

Shortly after the chip’s removal, food poisoning took the life of the Flamekeeper and his two apprentices. Clarke was suspicious but Lexa dismissed it as an unfortunate case of venison gone bad. A new Flamekeeper was found and while she lacked formal education, and several of the holy books were missing, Lexa was confident that she will fill the position just fine. 

Clarke’s eyes moved from the symbol and scar to Lexa’s left shoulder. There, just peaking above the sheet, were the three tattoos that Lexa had gotten with the adoption of their children. Each tattoo, she said, was a token of her commitment to them, that though they were not from her womb, they were still a part of her.  
At the top of her shoulder blade was a fierce lion with its teeth bared. This was for their first son. Lexa found him as a toddler, wandering alone and hungry on a battlefield during the great war. When the time came, she found she couldn’t send him away with the others and she brought him home to Clarke. Clarke was unsure of taking a child so soon in their union, but when she saw Lexa alone with the child, how her eyes shone in a way that she thought was solely reserved for her, Clarke he knew that the boy would be theirs. Lexa had chosen the lion because she said the boy had a lion heart and would grow into a great warrior, but as the years passed the boy proved clumsy with a sword and had no stomach for the hunt. Perhaps he would make a good healer Clarke reasoned, and when he was of age he was apprenticed to Abby for at time, but his aversion to blood was not limited to animals. It wasn’t until he befriended a local carpenter and took up woodworking that he found his true passion. And as he grew and his talents Improved, his mothers had been proud of the man he was becoming though he did not choose the path they had expected.

Below the lion was a star within a star for their second son and Clarke’s chest constricted as she thought on him. She remembered the day Abby had brought her the baby, a Skaikru child who’s mother had died in childbirth and had no other family. Abby had thought he would make a fine brother for their older boy and as soon as the tiny infant wrapped his little hand around Clarke’s finger, Clarke had agreed. Lexa, too, was smitten with the child and would be the first to roll out of bed in the night to comfort him, even in her exhaustion. Many times Clarke would awake to find the child asleep against Lexa’s breast; to Clarke, Lexa had never looked so beautiful than in these moments. He had lived three winters when the flu came and took him away. It was the day after the pyre, when she found Lexa curled alone in their bed, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs, that Clarke first saw the new smaller star tattooed into the first.

It was in the spring of the next year when they took a little baby girl who had been left at the Flamekeepers doors. The cherry blossom tattooed below the stars on Lexa’s back was a promise of new hope. She would be a healer, Lexa declared holding the pink infant in her arms, like her mother Clarke, and she would never know war, as Lexa had worked tirelessly in the five years since the great war to bring peace to her people. But the child had her own mind and, as the years passed, was happier in a tree than with a book, and more skilled with a sword than a scalpel. And after months of following Lexa out to the training fields, when she was supposed to be with her other mother at the hospital, and after much discussion with Clarke, Lexa had consented to train her. 

Clarke reached out and with a feather light touch traced the pink petals of the flower. The new colored ink of the day make the blossom the bright on Lexa’s back.

“She’s fine,” Clarke heard Lexa mumble in her native language.

“You’re awake,” Clarke answered in the same tongue.

“You’re worrying so loudly, no one can sleep.” Lexa scooted back until she was pressing against Clarke, and Clarke moved her arm around Lexa’s waist, splaying her hand across the cool flesh of Lexa’s stomach. Lexa always slept cold, and she hummed sleepily now, being wrapped in Clarke’s warm embrace. “I saw her yesterday. She was training.”

“You saw her? Why didn’t you tell me?” Their daughter had been taken as a general’s third two weeks ago, and being away from her for the first time made Clarke's heart ache. 

“I didn’t think of it. She was busy. We didn’t speak.”

“But did she seem happy?”

“She is always happy when there is a sword in her hand.” Clarke stroked her thumb against Lexa’s skin as she continued, “I thought you’d be pleased when Octavia chose her as her third. She’s one of your people and your friend.”

“I am pleased. But Octavia can be a harsh teacher.” 

“Strict ways are the best when it comes to being a warrior, you know that.” 

“I know, but when I saw the stitches across her arm last week I still wanted to kill Octavia.”

“She was wise to go to Abby with that injury and not to you. You would have wounded her more with your words than Octavia did with her blade.” Clarke grunted and pulled Lexa closer against her. Lexa let out a long breath. “I’ll talk to Octavia if you’d like.”

Clarke thought on this for a moment before answering, “No, I know that the strength she’ll gain will make her safe. It’s just hard. You know?”

Lexa rolled to her back and wrapped her arm around Clarke, pulling her into her side. “I was just a girl when I was Anya’s second, and you know all that I learned from her.”

“I know.” Clarke nestled her head on Lexa’s chest, her forehead against Lexa’s neck. She settled there until she could feel and hear the pulses of Lexa’s heart. “She’s a strong girl.”

“She is,” Lexa agreed.

“It’s not what I wanted for her,” Clarke confessed.

Lexa started to run her fingers through Clarke’s hair. “She was born for this. She has a gift.”

“I know. There was just too much of you in her, from the very beginning.”

Lexa chuckled and the sound rumbled in Clarke’s ear. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, I suppose not. Not if she grows to be like you.”

They fell into silence, that old comfortable silence that exists between two people that had spent a lifetime together. 

“The house feels empty now,” Clarke said, breaking the silence.

Lexa kissed the top of her head. “We could always take in another child.” 

Clarke was so surprised at this notion that she rose up on her elbow and met Lexa’s eyes with her own. When she saw no mirth or teasing there she settled back down into her embrace to consider her words. 

“Don’t you think we are a little too old for a baby?”

“Who said anything about a baby? I’m sure we can find an older child in need of a home.” There was a pause followed with, “if you want one.”

“But you don’t really want too,” Clarke guessed. 

“I do, if you do, but I was enjoying having you all to myself for once.” Lexa lazily ran her fingers down Clarke’s arm. “Early to bed. Nights with no interruptions…”

“It is nice, and I am enjoying the extra time I have at the hospital.” Clarke agreed. “and anyway, I don’t think we will be without children in our home for many more years.” 

“What do you mean?” Lexa asked. 

“You saw the way our son was looking at Reylee the other night.”

“The potter’s daughter?” 

“Yes, I think she might be the one.” The last few times Clarke had seen them together, they had been affection but there was more to it than that. She had seen a protectiveness in her son that she had never seen before.

“But he’s still so young,” Lexa protested.

“He’s the same age I was when we had our union.”

“But those were different times,” Lexa’s voice grew soft, “darker times.” 

Clarke reached up and stroked along her jaw. “And this is a time of peace. Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to us,” Lexa amended.

“And isn’t that even more reason he should pursue his happiness?”

“I suppose so.”

They fell into silence again. Clarke allowed the image of grandchildren to fill her mind. Lexa sparring with a little girl in the yard, reading to a little boy in one of their son’s rocking chairs, entertaining a room full of children with stories of her greatest battles.

Lexa broke her from her revelry with a change of subject, “Aden has requested my presence this afternoon.” 

Clarke let out a breath. “Again, so soon?” 

“He does not have the benefit of the whisperings of the commanders as I had when I was first Heda. I cannot deny him my council.” 

Clarke questioned the benefit of those early “whispers” but kept her opinion to herself on the matter. “And if he asks you again to be ambassador?”

“Then I will refuse a third time.”

Three years ago Lexa had made the difficult decision to step down from being Heda. It had never been done before, no Heda had lived long enough for it even to be considered, but Lexa’s reflexes had grown slower and the burden of her position weighed heavy, even in this long time of peace. And so together with the new Flamekeeper they called a conclave the likes of which had never been seen before. A new Heda would be found of the Nightbloods by winning contests of both combat and inteligence. Aden came out victor, as Lexa had expected, and in a new ceremony where Lexa lit Aden’s candle with her own, she passed on the flame of the commanders to Aden. All the clans ratified this unprecedented transition of power and it was done. Yet another peaceful legacy Lexa could leave to her people. 

“When do you have to be at the citadel?” Clarke asked.

Lexa squinted at the light coming in from the window. “Midmorning.” 

“And how are the Nightbloods coming?”

“Well. Though they could take their studies more seriously.” 

Since her retirement (that was the word in English as it had no equivalent in Trigedasleng) Lexa had taken to training the Nightbloods full time. Her lessons were not limited to the physical, but included diplomacy, justice, and economics. Lexa sometimes complained about her students but Clarke never saw her more alive than she was when she was teaching them. 

“I guess we should start…” Clarke began to get up when Lexa pulled her back down to the bed.

“Shhh. We still have a little more time.”

Clarke felt Lexa pull her in tighter, and Clarke moved her hand and let it rest on the center of her partner's chest. Clarke could feel the raised flesh there, the little oval bulge of scare tissue that was all that was left of the bullet that nearly ended Lexa’s life. One millimeter to the right and her beloved would have died, and all of the last 18 years, their love and their life, their children and their legacy, would have been erased from history. 

Clarke could sense the rise and fall of Lexa’s chest slowing, and then she heard the deep rhythmic breathing that told her that Lexa had drifted off again into sleep. 

“Reshop, Lexa,” Clarke murmured and then she, too, closed her eyes for a few last moments rest before a new day begins.

**Author's Note:**

> Clarke and Lexa deserved a lifetimes of morning-afters.Thank you for reading this fluffy moment that I wrote to help myself heal.


End file.
